


Truth Be Told

by Bakerstreethound



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional, F/M, Heartbreak, I Don't Even Know, I got emotional don't come at me, Sad, lost beloved, may have taken inspiration from a Panic! song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:15:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27443278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakerstreethound/pseuds/Bakerstreethound
Summary: You decide you're not enough for Sherlock, nor do you deserve him so you take matters into your own hands and make a difficult choice.
Relationships: Romantic Relationship - Relationship, Sherlock Holmes & Reader, Sherlock Holmes/Female reader, Sherlock Holmes/Reader, Sherlock Holmes/You
Kudos: 53





	1. Truth Be Told

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to keep this short & simple. I was feeling emotional and achy dealing with some things and this short fic was the outcome.

“This is not what you need. You really think this,” you gestured to yourself, choking back tears. “This is nothing, Sherlock. How many times do I have to say it? I’m no good for you. Leave me alone.” 

Your words falter when he grasps your waist, clasped around you like iron, afraid to let go. You watch the corners of his mouth twitching, deliberately calculating what words to slip through his skillful tongue. Words that could make or break you, comfort you, make you feel more than enough.  
You aren’t up for believing, today. Such truth settles in your chest, leaving it to burn and simmer.

“I don’t need another lecture, Holmes,” you hiss as his lips find your neck, feeling the tear droplets fall down your neck, entwining around you and meeting their demise. “Don’t you dare cry for me.” You tug his curls eliciting a breathless whimper. 

“Please.” 

“Don’t plead for me, love. Remember, I’m nothing.” 

A single tear falls, Sherlock’s hands roaming down your spine, making you wish you were anywhere else but here to provide him with your useless, achy, bleeding heart. 

“You’re mine.” his resolve falters as he brings your lips to his in an unforgiving heated, desperate blaze of passion. Your sorrows and his hopes mingled as one, lighting your fury with a single match of his ebb and calm. 

“Oh, Sherlock. Did you ever consider that maybe I never was yours?” 

His eyes, those damn sparkly sapphires once so calculating and cold to you in those early years, now look at you clouded with desperation and despair. 

The whispered ‘please’ passes through his lips but you tune him out, each step breaks another piece of your heart leaving it to rot on the floors of your once beloved flat. 

“I’m not sorry, my love.” 

With that, you pass through the door leaving everything and all behind you. Only then when you bypass the corner of Bart’s Hospital, do you let your tears shed full force, the realization of what you’ve truly done sinking in. 

You were never coming home.


	2. Fear of Falling Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re alone in an old flat and have a not so mysterious visitor stop by one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I managed to write another part following Truth Be Told. Yes, it’s still emotional and is achy, but we’re getting somewhere.

“Please” 

You can still hear his whispered plea as you toss and turn in bed, yanking your coverlet tighter around you. You’d come back, nowhere else to run, but for the dingy apartment you had in your early years alone. Granted it was still decent, but your heart’s steady pulse squelches out the ache, you wish it would just bleed and finish itself there on the floor. You wanted your agony gone. 

That was when you heard the knock on your door last night, padding quietly across the linoleum floor, eyes alert, body weary. You went into the living room, sliding back the curtain, looking at the pavement lit by the moon where a tall, dark figure stood. You’d recognize that silhouette anywhere and your heart squeezes again once more reminding you of your present agony and loss. 

Damn him. 

You weren’t in the mood to talk with him, let alone resolve the words and terrors you’d threw at him, but you weren’t heartless enough to let him sleep out on your doorstep in the cold. You are better than that. 

One...two… three steps you make it to the door, unlocking it quietly but deliberate in your approach. Eyes downcast you spare not a glance before his long coat brushes past you, whisking in his familiar scent. 

Kathump.

You swear you think your heart cracks as you walk by him, his hand reaching around and grasping your wrist. It is gentle, still leaving room enough for you to pull away, which you do. 

“C-can I…?” his eyes usually so bright are now swollen, shoulders shuddering as he watches you fold your arms across your chest. 

“Just...just go to bed, Sherlock.” 

His head dips down in acknowledgement, turning and curling up on the sofa. 

You don’t pass him another glance, closing your bedroom door, letting the tears you’d harbored fall, wishing somehow you could fix this mess you made.


	3. Beautiful Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sherlock finds you and stays the night, he spends the next day trying to mend the rift you created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the third installment!

You relish the feeling of the cool air on your skin as you peel away your warm sheets, and as you open your door, you’re fazed by the sight that meets you. Your heart sinks as your eyes roam over the figure huddled on your sofa, limbs bound tight, eyes red-rimmed for lack of sleep. His curls lay in messy disarray upon his head.   
Yet, despite this, you turn away, discarding your pajamas on the floor, going through your morning routine, stripping your bed of its sheets and covers, proceeding to gather your laundry. 

By the time you enter the second load in the dryer, he’s standing beside you, shoulders slumped, night robe wrinkled and hanging loose on his frame. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s thinking. Maybe he just wanted to stare into your hypnotizing orbs hoping he’ll find something, anything familiar there, but alas he doesn’t so he turns away, flopping back onto the couch. 

He turns to you, ruffling his curls before speaking. 

“Listen to me. We can’t go on like this forever.”

“Bet,” you snarled, taking the warm blanket from his grasp. “I will make your skinny arse in this bed if I have to and wrap you up in a sheet.”

“And then what?” his lips quirk into a ghost of a boyish smirk.

“Shut up. You don’t have a right to tell me what to do. I left for your own good. You don’t need me anymore. I’m all but a useless fool who mopes around with my fucking famous detective.”

“Calm down.”

“Says you. You, you’re the embodiment of everything opposite calm and now you expect me...me of all damn people to be this way? Go ask John to be calm. God, why did I bother to let you in last night? I knew I was a fool for doing this. I’m not good for you, Sherlock. Please. Just...you need to go. I...I don’t know what to do anymore. With you, especially with you.”

“Shut up already. Please, shut up.” His words take you back for an instant, you feel the pulsing of your heart clearly and its ache simmering, boiling, surfacing once more. The burn in your chest becomes more painful the longer you look at him, those sapphires burning with something you can’t pinpoint. 

Rejection? Fear? Need? Loneliness?   
Whatever it was, you don’t, can’t bring yourself to care. You’ve already made your choice. The detective has to live with the repercussions, but as he makes his way towards you, you feel shards of the walls you’d built so carefully, so meticulously start to fall to the floor. You will back the tears you’d tried so quietly to sob those lonely nights before he came. 

“Why must you always run from me?”

“I..” you can feel your resolve breaking. He’s so close yet almost a universe away and you can’t be sure if he’s real or if you’re hallucinating. 

“I don’t want you to leave me and I’m so fucking scared of losing you constantly that I have to fight for you all the damned time. I feel like I’ll forget your voice one day, that I won’t remember your smile, won’t get to hold you one last time before…” the tears fell, “before you’re gone forever.” 

“Have I ever left you before? Aren’t I here now? This is not a joke and I’m not dead.”

“Oh, yes being dead is so two years gone.”

“Please, I thought we were over this!”

“I am. Of course, I fucking am, Sherlock. I just don’t understand why you of all people can’t get a grip on the fucking situation! Hell, I should’ve eloped with John instead. Things would’ve been a hell of a lot faster.” 

Without so much as another word passes through your lips, you can hardly breathe, the grip on your waist takes it all away in the blink of an eye. Sherlock’s hands tighten around you, shaking as he meets his cold gaze to your indifference. “And you, you never understand how much it scares me to lose you. I’m better because of you. I can’t lose you too. I’ve already lost countless others.” 

His lips are dangerously close to yours and he leans further into you still. Your legs quake with anticipation, your body sore from the morning errands. You want to fall into him, relearn every sharp curve and pointed lines of him, so intoxicating is his presence, you almost regret bringing your hand and slapping it across his cheekbones. 

Almost.


End file.
